


Her Thoughts and His Dreams { horace somnusson }

by sapphictoadstool



Category: Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictoadstool/pseuds/sapphictoadstool
Kudos: 1





	1. Of Prisons and Diagnoses

She sat up in the metal-framed bed, reminiscing in the silence of the morning. Although the analog clock hanging from opposite wall only read 7:34, many of the other patients on Alice's ward needed sleep desperately.

Well, so did she, but, she barely thought about herself anymore.

On the small wooden stool in the corner of the room, sat a book, A Wrinkle in Time. She figured she could read it but she had done so more times than she could possibly count. It was one of the only books in the ward that's target demographic wasn't below five years old. The paperback didn't belong to her, but it might as well have. She was the only one who read it. Alice valued possessions; she didn't have very many in her cinder block-esque cell. 

Even the windowless room itself was devoid of much furniture. A simple light fixture was pressed against the ceiling, opposite the hardwood floor. Against one of the beige-colored walls, there was the metal-framed bed with its bleached white sheets. Across the room from the bed, hung a wall clock and a frameless abstract painting. The stool was in the corner to the right of the bed, and an armoire stood against the wall to her left. Atop it, a record player, out of her reach. The frankly depressing wardrobe was mostly empty and consisted of a series of shelves behind its oak doors, because the patients weren't allowed to have "weapons" in their rooms, and according to administration, hangers fell under the category of "weapons". All of the furniture, including the equally depressing stool were all secured to the floor with nails. 

After finally being somewhat motivated to leave her bed, Alice's sock-covered feet touched the hardwood floor with a hop. Halfway to the wardrobe, Alice stopped her stride, her head spinning. Her bottom met her feet at the floor, her head placed in her hands. Was she dehydrated? Did she have low iron? Was this a warning sign of her early demise? Alice could care less which. If she died, would her family know? After almost three years of not hearing from her, who would tell her mother? Would she be able to see Alice's body?

Why was she dizzy? Why did her head ache? There weren't even any voices.

Once she decided she was well enough to stand again, Alice made the rest of the way over to the wardrobe. She grasped the knob and pulled. She didn't own very many clothes. In fact, she wore the same three outfits on repeat and only owned a single pair of shoes. In the ward, clothing was a privilege. She wasn't able to wear anything but her provided gown until quite a few months ago. Thus, she was grateful for her three outfits, even if they weren't in style this season. 

She ultimately decided on her white polo blouse, button-down denim skirt, and her pair of trainers. These pair weren't even women's, but men's basketball shoes. Patients with clothing privileges weren't allowed to wear shoes with particularly hard soles because those also fell under the category of "weapons". Also, Alice decided that these were a lot more comfortable than women's tennis shoes, so she wasn't complaining.

After getting dressed, Alice would normally read, but today she wasn't particularly interested in reading about the wrath of IT again. She would like to listen to a record, another privilege, but she would have to ask a nurse to put one on for her, and patients weren't allowed to leave their cells until 8:00. They weren't referred to as cells, but as "quarters", but the ward, Alice felt, was very similar to a prison. Even after the three years that she had been living there, she didn't hate it any less. Maria had promised that before she knew it, it would start to feel like home. Alice got herself used to empty promises after a while.

She first arrived here when she was only twelve, as it was decided that she would be needing 24-hour professional supervision. Her psychiatrist told her mother that her condition was no longer "stable". Therefore, here she went; the Schizophrenic Unit of Children's Psychiatric. She only heard voices sometimes, she told the psychiatrist, and therefore this wasn't necessary. However, Alice wasn't involved in professional decision making. Because of her diagnosis, schizophrenia in association with social anxiety, she needed to be secluded. In fact, the first couple of months, this was taken to an extreme, and she was allowed very limited social interaction, and the only people who could speak to her was her psychiatrist and the nurse who gave her meals and medication. But now, according to doctors, she was well enough to interact with other patients, nurses, and doctors in the ward. However, the voices didn't stop. But Alice figured, some things she was just going to have to keep to herself.

The door of Alice's cell was slowly opened, surprising her. 

She's awake?

Alice turned around, and there stood her friend, Maria. Well, she was her nurse, but Alice liked to refer to her as her friend because Maria knew her better than anyone. She was wearing her usual scrubs, and her long dark hair was pulled away from her face. Maria had these eyes, that somehow could be warm and kind but also cold and stern if necessary. 

"Good morning! I didn't realize you were already awake." Off of the cart that she was pushing through the hall, she took a tray, which held two Dixie cups, one with Alice's morning meds and one with water.

Poor girl, probably didn't sleep well at all.

"Morning Maria."

"Did you sleep well?" Maria asked as she handed Alice her meds.

"For the most part," she replied as she began taking the three pills.

"That's good."

What a liar.

"Guess what?"

Her mouth full of water, Alice raised her eyebrows, suggesting a "what?".

"Today's your outdoor visit day."

Alice swallowed the last massive pill before saying, "Thank goodness."

What is she on about?

"You seem excited. Any particular reason?"

"I've been wanting to buy a new record. Trust me, I love Abbey Road, but-"

"You're getting quite sick of it?"

Alice giggled in reply. "Yeah." She handed Maria back the cups.

Record store? Slyvia'll be interested in that.

"Sylvia?" Alice said under her breath, confused.

"What about her?" Maria asked before leaving.

"Oh-uh... W-will she be taking me again?"

"I don't know, I'll have to check the schedule. I hope it's me, we had fun last time I took you out." Maria closed the door behind her.

Today, she was allowed the privilege to visit outside of the ward for a few hours. The schedule was different for everyone according to their psychiatric plan, but Alice was allowed to leave the ward once a month, supervised, of course. In public, the voices were louder than was almost bearable, but at least she was allowed a little bit of time to feel human.

The voices weren't normal, but it was even more strange that they weren't typical to other schizophrenic patients. Other schizophrenic people don't feel as though they can hear other people's thoughts, she had done enough research to know that. Alice was a special case. Perhaps that was why they were keeping her there longer. 

She took a glance at the wall clock, which read 8:06. She may as well leave this cinder block of a home, she thought.

Opening the door to her cell, she walked down the hallway, leaving behind the door and her clipboard hanging from it. She already knew what it said; something along the lines of her name, social security number, diagnosis, what medications she is to take, and a brief history. In her paragraph, it said that she had a history of lashing out when pressured. This angered Alice to the point where she no longer looks at it. It was an incident that happened once, but regardless, it's on her record. 

In the ward, there is a rule against reading other patient's clipboards, but because they were all curious children and the rule is not particularly strict, the patient's had a general understanding of each other's conditions. When she was first allowed socialization, some of the older patients were cautious around her (because of the whole "violence" thing), but eventually realized how shy and frankly, gentle Alice truly was.

At the end of the hallway, she pushed the metal push door leading to an industrial-esque stairwell. After hopping down the steps, she pushed the identical door at the bottom, leading to the hallway that opens up to the therapy wing, where all the psychiatrist's offices are. The offices, there had to be about eight, all circled around an open space. It was carpeted and, unlike most of the rooms in the ward, had decent furniture. It had a sofa and two loveseats, both a muted brick color, a leather ottoman, and a dark oak coffee table. Against a space between two office doors was a bookcase of a similar dark oak. Between the patients, it was referred to as "the lounge", because it was the least depressing room in the ward. Although the older patients spent their free time here, it functioned as the therapy waiting room, so they were encouraged to keep their noise level down. 

Sat down on the loveseat was Alice's fellow patient, Edward, dressed in a powder blue collared shirt, black slacks, and basketball shoes similar to hers. Edward's most distinctive feature was his golden blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, and today it fell in front of his eyes as he hunched over a book. Alice always told him that he looked like a sixteen-year-old Roger Taylor, but he never understood the joke.

...never changed his course nor his direction all that night as far as the man could tell from watching the stars. It was...

"Good morning, Edward."

The boy looked up from his book for only a split second, and said, "Mornin' Alice," before looking back down at his book. Alice sat on the loveseat opposite from him. Alice was aware that Edward had schizoaffective disorder, because of both his schizophrenia and bipolar symptoms. Therefore, she was always cautious to make sure she kept a happy mood around him because he could get gloomy from seemingly miniscule occurrences. 

"What're you reading today?" she asked, although she already knew the answer. She always asked him what he was reading. He looked up from his book again, raising an eyebrow.

Really, stupid?

He sighed before looking down from his book once again, saying, "The Old Man and the Sea." The Old Man and the Sea was always his answer, but Alice always asked; she wanted to give him something to look forward to.

... and the old man's sweat dried cold on his back and his arms and his old legs.

If she wanted me to take a new medication, she should of at least warned me... 

Elizabeth is always so loud, you can hear her before she even enters a room. Well, Alice could at least. Her mouth wasn't running to oblivion this time.

"Good morning, you two!"

Unlike Alice, Elizabeth's beauty could easily take any boy's breath away. She had dark hair that fell past her shoulders, big dark eyes with even darker lashes, and a glowing tan complexion. Of course, Elizabeth, the Persian beauty and Alice, the plain Jane nobody. Only in a place like a psychiatric ward you can forget about how crazy everyone is and worry about superficial things. Elizabeth, for example, has schizophrenia with vivid visual hallucinations. 

Anyway, she was wearing a purple dress with a white collar and black, flexible flats. 

... sun went down he tied it around his neck so that it hung down over his back and he cautiously...

"Good morning," Alice replied.

"Good day to you too, Edward."

The boy looked up from his book at Elizabeth, closing the book over his thumb.

"Oh, uh- sorry.."

"Don't worry about it, " she replied.

Edward, you stupid fuck, you heard her coming could have said something, but no... 

The poor boy.

"So Alice, next week, I can have an outside visit!"

"Oh, that's right, you've never had one before, have you?"

Although Elizabeth had been at the ward for more than Alice had, she was a year and a half younger and she was in a less stable condition. She heard that she had to constantly switch medications.

"Yeah, I heard there's a bakery near the shopping center that I really want to stop by, I forgot the name of it."

If there was one thing your mother told you, it was to be polite, but here you are...

Edward's self-deprecating monologue was loud enough to drown out even Elizabeth. Her temples started to ache.

"T-that's exciting. I'll be leaving for a few hours today."

"That. Is so. Cool! I hope you have fun, do you have any plans?"

"I mean, I'd like to stop by the record store." This was enough to grab Edward's attention.

"R-really?" the boy asked.

"Yeah, I think so. I hope they have A Day at the Races, I've been wanting to listen to that one."

"Well, If I were you, I'd take a look at the Elton John section, because that man has had quite a few hits, let me tell you that. Then again, if you really want something to-"

Ah, there she is.

"Alice," she heard Maria from behind her. She turned around to see the woman, standing a few feet away from the loveseat.

"You ready to go?"

"Uh- yeah."

The nurse gestured for Alice to follow her, she obeyed. She saw Edward and Elizabeth wave from behind her, and she did so as well.

Of course, she didn't know then that that was the last time she'd ever see them.


	2. Of Escapees and Ferries

The store doorbell dinged as Alice pushed it open. The environment has a certain feeling, an aura if you will, of homeliness, a feeling she hadn't felt in quite some time. Rock posters were strategically placed along the walls, the floor made of marley vinyl, and the shelves were made of a stained maple. The clerk, a lanky, pale-haired teenage boy, looked up from his newspaper when he heard the bell ring.

Finally, a customer.

"Good morning, you looking for anything in particular?"

Alice looked back at Maria behind her, who nodded in encouragement.

"Um, do you have A Day at the Races?"

"Ah, a Queen fan, I see," the boy said, "Should be over there," he said, pointing to a corner with a shelf of new records. "I don't believe we have any used copies available, but those are the new ones."

Alice took one off of the shelf and gleamed at its new plastic packaging.

"Hey, Alice," Maria said.

"Hmm?"

"You sure you don't want... one more?" Maria asked, holding up a copy of Hunky Dory, which Alice always talked about, as she had a copy at home.

"Really?" she asked.

"Why not? We'll add it to the collection." Alice handed her Queen vinyl to Maria, and she took both up to the register.

Bowie and Mercury? A bit eclectic I guess.

"11 pound for the two," the clerk said as Maria handed him the money from a white bank envelope. The clerk put the two records in a white plastic bag and handed it to Maria. She turned on her heel, facing Alice and asked, "Shall we be on our way then?"

She nodded in response as they headed toward the door. It shut behind with a ring from the bell attached to it. Maria handed the bag to Alice, popped open the white envelope in her hand and asked, "We have quite a bit left, you want to stop for something to eat?"

"Sure."

"Hey, you okay?" she asked with a concerned look on her face.

"Oh, uh- yeah, I'm fine," she responded. Alice didn't like to lie, but she didn't want Maria to waste her time worrying about her. She was most definitely not fine, in fact, she was quite the opposite. There weren't very many people in the outlet, but it was still quite loud nonetheless. To be frank, it was always quite loud. Why must it be so loud? 

"I'm fine." You're always fine. When are you not fine? 

Alice gave her a grin, disproving her concerned look.

Okay, fine. "I'm fine." I'm sure you're just fine.

"Coffee shop?" the nurse asked. Alice nodded in response. She couldn't have coffee, it would mess with the meds she was on. However, it would be nice to go anyway. She wished she could stay a little longer. Well, hypothetically, she could, but the consequences wouldn't be worth it when she was caught. Or if she was caught. Hypothetically, she could just run. They had taken the thirty-minute drive to St. David's, her hometown which she knew like the back of her hand. If she wanted to, she could run away and only Maria could be the one to stop her. 

If she ran, she could finally be away from the psychiatrists and the doctors and the nurses and their meds that didn't work and the patients and Children's Psychiatric Hospital of Pembrokeshire.

The thoughts were never going to go away anyway.

Before Alice knew it, she was running. She was running and running and running and running and she didn't feel like stopping. She didn't think she could ever stop. Alice hadn't run in forever, she never had a reason to. She almost forgot that her legs could work so well.

Alice never acted spontaneously. She never did anything spontaneous, in fact. She didn't even think about this decision. She never even pondered it once, she just had a guttural feeling that it was what she was supposed to do. She sort of regretted it now, but she knew it was far too late. So she just kept running. Whatever she did, she could not stop running.

She heard Maria scream her name from behind her, but they were so far away already. Where was she going? Did she have a plan? What was she going to do? All she had was the clothes she was wearing; she didn't have any money. 

She could hear the unbearable noise from the pedestrians around her. Not clearly, but it was deafening nonetheless. She eventually made her way out of the outlet and onto the main road, pressed against the tiny, broken pavement. She figured she couldn't stay in St. David's but would have to find a way out. She continued to sprint even though her legs ached to oblivion. She needed to be somewhere, anywhere, far away from her inaccurate diagnosis. 

Was she even schizophrenic in the first place?

Was she trapped there because she was being studied?

What else were they hiding from her?

Alice didn't need to be thinking about that right now. She needed to be thinking about running. The main road eventually turned, leading into a residential street. She couldn't see Maria or anyone else trying to catch up to her. Was anyone going to be looking for her? God, she was exhausted. She continued to run down the road, rows of houses that all seemed to look the same. Alice remembered when she lived in a neighborhood like this. There were a couple of children playing in front gardens, their thoughts drowning into a dreadful, incomprehensible noise. She continued along the pavement until she stopped in her tracks.

Shit. It was a cul-de-sac. Alice knew it was rude to cut into people's back gardens without their permission. In fact, she felt sort of guilty. It was something her mother would have told her off for. She continued to run, through the space between two small colonial homes and into the woods behind it. She hoped no one saw her, she was too preoccupied to look behind her. 

Alice finally stopped in the middle of the wooded thicket flopping onto the ground. It wasn't very deep, only a division between two neighborhood streets. It was only then that the weight of what she was doing finally fell upon her. She was a runaway kid. A missing person. Would there be a file in the local police department with her name on it?

Would they care enough to try to find her? Would she be one of those milk carton children, or the one in the paper under the headline, Psycho Child on the Loose? She didn't want to think about it. Why was she thinking about it?

Would Edward miss her asking what book he was reading?

'No, stop. Focus. Where are you going?' she asked herself. What if she went to visit her parents? Would they even recognize her? She had to think realistically. Somewhere like a restaurant or a library could suffice, it surely would be crowded. No, the first place the police would look was a public place. 

There was that abandoned storage facility near East Main. Alice remembered when she was younger all the older kids would go there to hang out because they thought they were the shit or something. That side of town was never looked after anyway, if she wanted to be inconspicuous, it might be the solution. 

Her legs ached so horrifically that she didn't want to think about carrying on. Alice knew she couldn't stay in one place for too long. With what she was doing, it was too dangerous. She realized she no longer had the records in her hand. She didn't even notice she had dropped them.

She trudged on through the thicket to the other side, clearly labeled Whittle Street. Unlike the other road, of which she didn't bother to check the name of, this was an outlet of which let onto different neighborhoods. Alice knew that this was a gamble, as she was relying on her poor memory. She thought she knew St. David's like the back of her hand, but apparently that was not entirely accurate and in fact, a bit of a reach. If she could find her way to Gambino's Market, then she could find her way onto Main, which would eventually lead onto East Main. 

How long was it since she left Maria in the outlet? It could have been 3 minutes or 3 hours, Alice couldn't tell the difference. 

On Whittle Street, apartments lined in files. Children played in the tiny gardens in front of the buildings. Although they were barefoot and had dirt patches on their dungarees and polos and khaki shorts, they seemed happy. Alice could remember that bliss. She supposed that it must be a Saturday, with their lack of school uniforms or church wear.

Alice walked along the pavement at a steady pace. There were too many people to continue running. Then again, Alice's shaking joints wouldn't mind the rest. 

Noise. The drowning, deafening, consuming noise. God, did it ever stop?

Alice was analyzing every little detail. What was her gait suggesting? Were people staring at her? Did they know? Would they rat her out? Could they hear her too? She knew she should stop. All she was doing was walking, everyone walked, everything was fine. Everything was just fine.

Except for that whole runaway thing, that was most definitely not fine.

Once she got out of eyesight from the neighborhood inhabitants, she proceeded to run. Her knees and ankles were screaming and begging her not to, but she continued. Alice pressed on, thankful for her footwear and unthankful for her denim skirt. She eventually made it to the end of the street, which led onto a road with forking neighborhoods. Automobiles zoomed past, making her anxious to continue along the shaky, broken sidewalk.

No, everything was fine.

Continuing to make her way down the busy road, she received a freezing chill down her spine and stopped her gait. Two patrol cars, about twenty meters away, parked along the opposite side of the road.

... psychiatric ward ... Pembrokeshire ... fifteen ... brown hair ... polo blouse ... a schizophrenic?

There were two officers outside of the cars, one with a clipboard. She didn't realize that she would be in immediate danger this soon. Alice booked her way down an alleyway that diverged from the road swerving between dumpster bins. Panic, panic, panic, panic. She couldn't take control of her own thoughts let alone those of the occasional pedestrian around her. The mostly silent environment of the alleyway was interrupted by a growing, turbulent boisterousness of the main road. Alice didn't think she ever ran so fast, even when getting away from Maria. 

They were already looking for her.

Was she seen as a threat?

Alice diverged from the alleyway onto the main road. She looked up at the green street sign above her. Westboro Ave., it read in bold white letters. East Main was on the other side of town, but it was a tiny community; it shouldn't take too long. Alice reminded herself that the police were only a block away now, so to be cautious. It was a busy street, how was she to stay cautious? She remembered her mother used to walk her down this avenue on the way to school. They would say good morning to the shopkeepers and occasionally feed the pigeons. If they left early enough, sometimes they could even get breakfast at... 

The rustic, worn sign of the Westboro Cafe could be seen from across the street. It was never particularly busy around this hour, she supposed she could hide there for a while. Alice paused, waiting for the traffic light to turn a blaring red. The God-awful, dreadful noise only grew more horrifically deafening as she crossed the painted sidewalk.

She pulled open the cafe door, and the chattering dropped substantially. There were only a few tables occupied. The floor was a cherry hardwood, and the walls were painted a navy blue, brightened by the glass scoop chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The wide windows that covered the walls were curtained with doily valances. Crimson red booths lined the walls and above them, crowded bookshelves of a cherry wood that matched the floors. The decor, the booths, the books, absolutely nothing had changed since Alice was twelve. 

Wait, Alice?

She looked to her right and was frankly astonished. A tall girl with a coily afro out to her shoulders and a complexion that reminded her of a chai latte, stood there an apron wrapped around her waist. 

Holy fuck, it was Inez.

"Oh, um- table for one please," Alice said, trying her very best not to sound like herself.

"Yes, right... this way..." she replied taking her to one of the booths. She knew something was up, Alice just knew. 

Did Al really get out of the loony bin?

She sat down in the old crimson booth and tried to focus on not panicking. God, today has been a constant battle of trying not to panic, she thought to herself.

"Um, darling, what's your name?"

"Yes, uh- Mabel, Mabel Sholto."

"Oh, I'm sorry. You look like someone I used to know."

"Oh, what happened to her?"

"Well, she got sent away a while back," she said sympathetically. Inez didn't really care about her, did she?

"Oh, poor thing."

"Anyways, my apologies, can I get you started off with something to drink?"

"Just a water, please." She hoped the water was still free of charge. Inez gave her a grin and turned on her heel toward the kitchen.

She hadn't seen her in years, she was surprised Inez even recognized her. Alice wasn't in one of her cute little dresses with her hair double braided. She was thin and frankly, weak-looking. Alice's appearance got increasingly more disgusting. Yet, Inez still knew her face. Inez used to live down the street from her. When they were younger, they used to play dolls and pretend and whatever the hell children did. However, once they grew up a bit, Inez bossed her around to oblivion and it was seen as justified because she was a year older. She seems to have learned a little responsibility, having a decent job. She wondered if her parents were still fighting.

The crimson booth she was sitting on was showing signs of wear and tear. The leather was ripped, showing the foam cushion on the inside. Between the navy colored wall and the vibrant red seat, someone appeared to have left a receipt. Alice picked up the piece of paper and was surprised to find instead of someone's cappuccino order, a piece of cardstock. A ticket. 

She turned it over to reveal that it was a ferry ticket, Cairnholm Island, it said in calligraphy. Departing 10:30, the 7th of October, 1979. Tomorrow.

This couldn't be real, there was absolutely no possible or realistic way that Alice could be so lucky. Why did she have this thing, was this some sort of Godsend? If so, why was she thinking so much into it? Alice felt quite sympathetic toward the person that left it here, but she didn't have another choice. Did she deserve this? What if she was just some Psycho Child on the Loose? Alice stuffed the piece of cardstock in her skirt pocket without another thought.

Inez came walking toward her, a glass of water in hand.

"Thank you, darling," Alice said in response. 

For the first time in what was probably several years, she felt safe, safe within herself. Alice had a plan.


	3. Of Townsfolk and Caves

Alice's own hunger woke her up. Her empty stomach felt cavernous as it ached. The only nutrition she had had the day before was the glass of water from the cafe. Her back pained almost just as much, from the night's rest on the concrete floor. Memory began to flood in from the day before. She looked around her environment, the storage facility was so dark, you couldn't see to the other side. Although it was empty, it wasn't less filthy; graffiti covered the sheet metal walls and cigarette butts covered the floors. The only light was that coming from the garage door that was stuck halfway. Alice had to assume it was about five o'clock, the sun was just peeking out from over the horizon. 

She was snuggled up in a corner, knees to her chest, hungry and freezing. She was surprised she even managed to fall asleep in the first place; it was so very cold in her little corner. Alice figured she could get some sunlight if she sat by the door, in the warmth, but she was so paranoid that someone might spot her that she didn't even ponder the idea.

She almost got caught yesterday, she wasn't going to risk that again. Her ticket was still in her pocket, Alice hadn't taken her eyes off of it since. She wished that it was colder yesterday so that she would have thought to wear a jacket. 

She tried her best to look a little different than she did yesterday. Alice had untied her plait, put her hair half up and untucked her shirt, but it was freezing so she tucked it back in again. Alice was dreaming of when and how she would get her next meal as her stomach continued to beg. 

Alice remembered the last time she felt this desperate was when she was first admitted. She was kept in a room with nothing to do besides relish in her own thoughts, much like she was now. The thoughts, the voices stopped. She was so hopeful that she was getting better. Well, until the doctors came. They didn't really know what they were doing. She was lonely like she was then. She had voluntarily left everything she knew behind. It was like a suicide mission. She was going to get caught, she would be back in that cell of an empty lonely room. 

But soon, that would all be over. She hoped the news of her disappearance hadn't spread to Cairnholm already. The dock was close by, about two or three miles if she took a back road. If she could get there and on the ferry undetected, it would be a miracle. Alice figured she could use a miracle right about now.

***

She hid behind the alcove in one of the brick building's architecture. 'Of course police would be doing a search, that's their job', she thought to herself. Everything felt as though it was spinning. In the alleyway between the two brick apartments, hung clotheslines with the laundry of the residents hanging from it. Still wearing her clothing from yesterday, there was no way she could go out into the public of the small town. She snatched a blazer from the clothesline and quickly slipped it on and buttoned it. It was overly structured and quite oversized, but it would have to do. She felt so wrong, so guilty, but she figured if it helped her stay incognito, they wouldn't mind. 

She ran down the alleyway, turning behind the building and fitting between the architecture of the building and a tall, neatly trimmed bush. She looked up at the sky and had to assume it was about nine o'clock now. The dock was quite close, if she could get there, in the busy street, then all she would have to do is leave. The St. David's police clearly weren't used to something as serious as this, it was a small town after all. They didn't seem to be doing very well at finding her. Alice assumed this was the only time that she was grateful someone was bad at their job.

From the back corner of the building, she could see the harbour at the bottom of the hill, the ferry pressed against the port sticking out into the crystal blue sea. 'It must be freezing,' Alice thought to herself, 'The October chill would be nice down there.' When she was younger, her father used to take her out to the harbour and walk along the shore, windbreakers zipped and feet bare. There was a melancholy feeling, with the memories flooding back. It made her glad to be reminded of what made her childhood so memorable, so loving, so functional. However, it made Alice realized that three years of her life were wasted being treated for something that couldn't be treated. The antipsychotics made her feel drowsy and out of it. She wished that she could see her parents again. She never realized then how good they were. Well, if she couldn't return back to the life she was stripped away from, then at least she could escape the people who took her away from it.

Alice saw the little ants of people walk down to the doc, wearing shirts that covered their arms. She thought about how lucky they were, not having to escape. They're probably going with their families to the island to go on vacation or to visit relatives. Maybe they were going back home after visiting the cathedral. However, she doubted any of them were escaping the hands of law enforcement. 

She continued down the hill, behind the buildings and away from view from the street. A metal gate guarded off the next alleyway from the other brick complex, so she was forced to venture down the division of the structures. Down the alley she went, between rows of wrought iron staircases leading up to overhead flats.

As Alice walked closer to the street, the drowning mixture of thoughts began to grow. As she got to the pavement on the shoulder of the street, she turned to her right, staring at her toes. There were people all around her, some of them most likely police officials, so she couldn't let anyone see her face. They may have already seen it on "Wanted" posters, how was she supposed to know?

Would Alice ever find a home again? Not a house or shelter, she could give less of a damn about that. She hadn't had a place to call "home" since she lived with her parents. She never once had to fear for her life, she never once had to escape, she never once was anything but happy. Would she ever be happy again? Alice was lonely, despite the fact that she was surrounded by so many people. Was the hospital worse than this?

She continued along the pavement, trying to focus on her own thoughts and not those of those around her. It was obnoxious, nobody ever just let their mind relax. Well, neither did Alice, but it would be nice if everything was quiet for once. The street forked into two, and as she headed down the one that headed to the harbour, she saw a patrol car in the other and an officer outside of it, turned away. She ran until she could no longer see the road, now hidden from her view by trees. 

Alice continued down the hill until her feet hit the sand. She pulled the ticket out of her pocket, relieved that it was still there. What would she have done if she hadn't gone into the cafe, or if she had been taken to a different seat, or even if she hadn't found it? Nevertheless, she was so grateful for the piece of paper, for it was priceless to her. Her stomach pounded and ached. She was so goddamn hungry. She was a little light-headed, but she kept walking. There was an old man at the front of the dock, collecting everyone's priceless pieces of paper. Alice stepped into what seemed to be an unorganized line. 

Nobody looked at her. No double takes. No confused looks. Just the sound of the racing thoughts around her. Did anybody know that she was a missing person? Did anyone know he she was? She hugged her stolen blazer a little more tightly around her. Once the man asked for her ticket, she handed it to him, making sure to not look him in the eye. She continued to walk down the dock to the boat tied to its pillars. It was on the smaller side, in fact, it may have been a bit of a reach to call it a ferry, but Alice wasn't complaining. Her toes pinched in the Chuck Taylors that she had been wearing since yesterday, her stomach twisted and turned, her hair was a mess, her clothes were dirty, but Alice was hopeful. She didn't even know why at this point, she didn't have a reason to be, with all the shit she had been through, but she did. Everything would be okay.

***

Alice could see the island from where she was sitting. Her awful hunger hadn't ceased, but her spirits were high. She may have been anxious before, but the salty mist of the October sea managed to calm her down a bit. The only time she heard of Cairnholm being significant was when it was bombed, but even then, it was before Alice's time. The island grew larger as the ferry grew closer. The other travelers on the boat paid her no attention. The authorities must not have disclosed her as missing to the public yet. She could imagine the frenzy the small town would be in if they found out that there was a psychiatric patient on the loose. Realistically, how much harm could a supposed schizophrenic do?

The ferry slowly came to a halt at the dock of the island. The land seemed to be thick with a hanging fog. Frankly, its appearance was quite dreary. The travelers departed from the boat and onto the dock. The beach sand was white and rocky. Between the rocks along the beach was a rickety wooden staircase leading up to the depressing town above. After walking across a small field of faded green, Alice made her way to the road. She wrapped the blazer snuggly around her torso. It was chilly, the breeze from the ocean blowing on to the island. 'It was never this cold by the harbour at home,' she thought. She continued onto the cobblestone road, small decrepit homes along the right side, the view of the sea to her left. Although the town itself was quite gloomy, the residents themselves seemed to be quite the opposite. Cheery children played with skipping ropes in the open field and a young girl, about Alice's age, leaned against the side of one of the homes, reading a novel. She continued along the path, and it diverged into another road, leading into what looked like a town square. Alice noticed that like her own town, not many people owned cars, as it was possible to walk almost everywhere. 

It felt as though Alice had gone back a decade. The island was quite secluded from the rest of society, and everything from their dated fashion to their newspapers from a fortnight ago reflected that. The buildings like the shops and bakeries and pubs didn't seem to be aging very well, with crumbling stone, moss and ivy growing along the side, and roofs that looked as though they were recently patched and could slide off any minute. 

She sat down on a bistro seat outside of the bakery, and immediately she regretted it as the smell of freshly baked bread made her stomach rumble to oblivion. Alice looked up at the sky. The blue hue was completely blanketed by a layer of thick, opaque fog. A part of the blanket shone brightly, the sun peaking through. The air smelled strongly of salty sea water. The families that resided on the island must have been living there for generations. It felt comforting, homely, and old-fashioned. She felt as though she was looking through gray-tinted glasses. Most importantly, even though there was a certain level of noise, it was mellow and calm. No one was nervous or anxious, life on the island was predictable. 

Alice's thoughts were interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. She looked around and a middle-aged man stood there. Although his face was wrinkling, his hair was graying, he had a cheery, heart-warming, crooked smile on his face. Alice presumed by his flour-covered apron and pin-striped shirt that he worked at the bakery. 

"Darling, it's cold. Why don't you come sit inside?" he asked.

She knew very well that she shouldn't obey. Her parents pounded her for years about not talking to strangers. Before she had time to think about it, her legs straightened and she walked into the bakery, as the man held the door open. 

Alice Wichman, age 15.

She quickly turned around, facing the man. The bakery was entirely empty, with the exception of the two of them. He shut the squeaking door behind him.

"The police are coming, don't you fret," he said, with sincerity, "They'll take care of you."

"Why would I want that?" The words escaped her lips before she could comprehend the situation.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Alice knew it would happen eventually, but she didn't think it would be this quickly. 

"You'll be okay," the baker said, possibly trying to calm her nerves.

"No the fuck I won't!" she yelled, her voice quivering, tears beginning to make their way down her cheeks. "Please just let me go..."

He was silent, the warm smile on his face turning flat. 

Don't try to pick a fight with me.

Could she fight him? Although he was short in stature, he seemed to be quite strong, he could hurt her, and hurt her bad. 

Alas, Alice thought of something.

She began to walk behind the counter, over to the cash register.

"Don't you dare," he said as he made his way away from the door. The doorway was clear. She slid over the countertop, and booked toward the empty doorway, pushing it open. She continued to run. Again, deja vu. 

"Don't let her run away!" Alice heard the baker yell from behind her. She heard more chasing footsteps and the calm, quiet environment became increasingly loud and angry. Her tears began to roll again. 

Her feet pounded against the rocky pavement as she ran and ran and ran. She was livid, and she didn't know whom towards. Was it the people chasing her for trying to "protect" their community from who they thought was a criminal? Was it the hospital for ruining and tormenting her? Was it Maria for lying to her? Was it her parents for wanting what they thought was best for her? Was it herself for not complying? Alice's legs ached, she spent most of the last two days running and her body was working against her. 

A stone pebble from the path wobbled underneath her foot and she flew forward. Alice got herself up as quickly as she could, ignoring the obvious scrapes on her cheek and knee. She was dizzy, and her vision was a little blurry, but Alice pressed on. She ran faster, making her way down another faded green hill that lead to a line of pine trees. 

She didn't look who was following her, but she knew it had to be at least three people chasing. Alice ran through the clearing of trees. On the other side, there was a valley, rock ledges took the form of tall walls, and there was a space between two of the larger boulders. There were these large, jagged boulders everywhere; it was almost Stonehenge-esque. She looked behind her, and the four or five chasers were snaking their way through the trees.

She didn't have time. She ran towards and passed her way through the clearing. Between the rocks was a cave, damp and cold, the air thick with vapor. The trampling footsteps started to fade as she got to the dead end. What was she thinking? Did she think she could eventually escape them? To the people of the island, she was a danger, a threat. Why did she think this was a good idea?

"What are we doing here?"

"I swear, I had a feeling it'd be today."

"So you're telling me that we are going to be late because of an inkling you had?"

Alice turned around, and the townspeople were nowhere to be seen.

"Millard, darling, I'm a prophesier. When has my intuition ever been wrong?"

"Hello?" Alice managed to spit out. She hadn't remembered a time when she's been more confused.

Alice?

A boy about her age, very well dressed, looked into the cavernous rock clearing. His eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"See, Millard? I told you!"


	4. Chapter 4

***

Hello, everyone! So, first of all, let me explain a bit. This story is, for the most part, based on the film universe. However, the timeline is before Jacob arrives and Victor dies, but post-Abe, because the film takes places in 2016 and this story takes place in 1979. 

Next, some of the characters may be tweaked because of the creative process or whatever. 

Victor in the film is depicted to be much younger, but he will be about 17-18. Millard will be the age he is in the book because he was just such a good character. He'll be 16-17ish. Hugh and Fiona, definitely a thing, and will be 15-16ish. 

Despite the age differences, everyone's peculiarities will remain the same.

These changes don't have much significance on the plot of the story, but I wanted to make them because I'm the author and I make the rules. 

Also, in the film, Emma's character was a little watered down, so expect Emma's personality to be a little more unironically fiery!

Anyway, enjoy!

\- Sam

***


	5. Of Greetings and Homes

Alice began to cautiously make her way towards the boy, as he walked towards her in return. Although he looked about seventeen, he dressed much older, in a tailored tailcoat, trousers, and top hat. The attire was quite old-fashioned, she never knew anyone who wore three-pieces in the afternoon. His blonde hair was slicked back, and he wore a warm grin on his face. 

"The name is Horace," he said, his gloved hand extended, "We've been expecting you." Alice reluctantly grabbed his hand, shaking it.

"Horace, don't frighten the poor girl," the other voice said from outside. Horace gestured for her to follow him.

"Millard, who do you think I am? I'm trying to be polite," he said, walking her outside. Alice looked around outside. Where was Millard? 

"Oh, goodness, your face!" the voice said.

Alice touched her cheek, only to find blood on her fingertips. Stupid pebble.

"Where... are you?" she said under her breath, looking around.

"Millard, let's leave. We're behind schedule and you aren't decent," Horace said, taking off a wool cap out of a bag of folded clothing on the ground and handing it to... thin air. As he let go of it, it seemed to be floating. It was taken from him and placed higher in the air as if someone taller that both Alice and Horace were wearing it.

"You-you're," she said, taking a step back, stumbling on her words. This couldn't be real. It was impossible, there had to be some reasonable explanation for this.

"Yes, about that..." Millard said, "We're all quite a bit strange. I just happen to be invisible." Alice felt lightheaded and tried not to think about the fact the Millard was naked. What in the hell is happening? 

"Is this really what people wear nowadays?" Horace said, gesturing toward her outfit and walking toward the line of trees.

"W-well I guess so," Alice said shakily, following him.

"Fascinating," Millard said. Alice assumed he was following the two of them, as the cap moved alongside Alice.

Fascinatingly casual.

'I work with what I have', Alice thought. 

She looked around her surroundings, still worried. She didn't see any of the island residents who were previously chasing her. "Are they gone?"

Horace's shoulders relaxed. "There are a few things that might need to be explained," Millard said.

"L-like why you are-"

"Invisible? So there are a few people who... are a little ... peculiar."

"The peculiars. What makes you one?" Horace asked eagerly.

"Horace, one step at a time," said Millard as they walked through the line of trees. Horace brushed off his coat, even though he didn't manage to get any pine needles on it. As the walked across the field toward the path, Millard took off his cap, handing it to Horace as he placed it back in the bag. 

Alice looked up at the sky. The fog had been replaced by a clear blue. Alice removed her blazer, holding it in the crook in her arm. It was much warmer than she had remembered. The three walked along the path, away from the town square.

"Don't you worry, it'll all make sense eventually," Millard said.

"We have friends who are just like us, you see," replied Horace, "There's Hugh, who has bees in his stomach."

"Victor and Bronwyn, who are incredibly strong."

"Olive, who has fire in her hands."

"Emma, who is as light as air."

"Enoch, who can raise the-"

"Wait, wait," Alice said, stopping in her tracks. The thoughts, the information, the doubts were circling around her. "How am I supposed to believe you? A few minutes ago I was being tracked down and now... I don't know."

Horace took a deep breath, and Alice presumed Millard did as well. They looked at one another and back at Alice.

How does one explain...

"How did you know I'd be here?" Alice asked curiously.

"That would be my doing," said Horace, confidently.

Don't get cocky, now.

"Well, last night... I had a dream," he continued, "Quite a good one at that. But then, I saw... you." Alice was flabbergasted. He dreamt of her. 

"You were in that cave, me and Millard..."

Millard and I.

"-were outside. Only peculiars can pass through loops, Alice." 

'Strange,' she thought, 'he never told him her name.'

"So you can see into... the future?" 

"Well, it's kind of like that," Horace replied, chuckling.

She's prettier than I remember.

Alice could feel her face become warm. She hoped to God she wasn't blushing. Although she didn't have a clue what Millard looked like, Horace was an incredibly dapper, polite boy. She sure as hell wasn't pretty.

"So I'm... peculiar as well?"

"Why of course," Millard said, "It only took you a few hours."

"One step at a time, he says," mocked Horace.

"Our peculiarities separate us from the rest of society. They make us different in a way that others don't seem to understand," Millard explained to her, "So, what's your peculiarity?" Horace turned to her out of curiosity. Why was she nervous?

"Well, I kind of... hear what everyone thinks..." she said.

What?

"So, you can read minds?" Horace asked.

"N-no, it's not really like that. I just, I hear thoughts. It's like an involuntary situation. I don't want to hear them. It's not like a skill that I learned or anything. I just hear what you think like I hear what you speak."

There was an uncomfortable silence, complete silence.

"Or something," she interrupted, "So where are we going anyway?"

"There's a home, where all these friends live, under the care of Miss Peregrine," Millard explained. Millard, she discovered, was quite the intellectual.

"She's a peculiar too?" asked Alice.

"Well, I suppose you could say that," Horace replied. 

"Oh my goodness," Alice said, frankly a bit exhausted. She knew by now that this was far too elaborate to be a dream. "I don't know, this seems like a lot of nonsense." The two boys laughed.

Alice stopped. The path looked as though it had ended; there was nothing but forest.

"This way," said Millard's voice. Alice followed Horace and as she made her way to the trees she could see a building through them. It was a magnificently beautiful brick house, with chimneys and turrets that point up to the crystal clear sky above. Around the home was a beautiful lawn with blooming flowers and striped gardens. Neatly trimmed topiary animals stood tall in a row, including a griffin, a centaur, and a mermaid. Two small girls played on the porch and an older boy held a rope, wrapped around the waist of a girl in a tree. He then started pulling on the rope, and the girl was pulled down as if without it, she would fly away.

"Oh, goodness," Horace said as he looked down at his pocket watch. He handed the bag of tailoring to Millard behind him. "Let's hope we make it out alive." As she followed the boys toward the home, but before they were able to get there, a woman, dressed in a royal blue blazer and pencil skirt and heels that clicked against the stone path, arms crossed. Taking out her own silver pocket watch she began, "Gentlemen, would you like to explain to me why you are two minutes and thirty-six seconds late?"

"Well, Miss Peregrine... this is Alice," Millard said, avoiding the question.

"Yes, I'm aware," she replied, "Come with me love. And Mr. Nullings, please put some clothes on."

I know, I'm not some pig.

Alice followed Miss Peregrine to the front door, turning the gilded knob and politely invited her inside. At first, Alice was surprised by how perfect it was. For a children's home, it was neat and tidy, and it felt homey. Adjacent a mahogany staircase was a sitting room, in front of some windows, the sun pouring into and filling the room. A Persian rug covered the hardwood floor, and a high-backed chair faced the two sofas. Miss Peregrine sat in the chair, her stern stare replaced with a warm, welcoming gaze. She gestured for her to sit and Alice obeyed as if she were her own mother.

"Alice, darling, are you aware of why you are here?" she asked politely. It felt like an organized plan. She was a particularly meticulous woman, Alice discovered.

Her eyes wandered to her lap as she replied, "Well- a little. Frankly, it's all a bit much."

"How did you find the loop?" she asked, her eyes placed on hers. She felt as though she could read her thoughts.

"The...loop?" Alice asked, confused. The entire day was quite confusing really?

"The cave."

"Well, you see..."

She explained everything. Her family, the hospital, the diagnosis, the medications, Maria, her running and running and running and running, the ferry, the baker, the chase, the more running and running and running and running, the cave, and finally, Horace. It was all so vivid that she hardly realized the tears that fell into her lap. Alice didn't look up, but she felt Miss Peregrine's sympathetic glare.

How positively tragic.

"I'm sure others have had worse." The words fell out of her lips before she realized that Miss Peregrine hadn't spoken. Her eyes grew wide, still burning with tears. 

"So Horace was correct," Miss Peregrine said, interested, "We haven't yet discussed peculiarity, which as you're hopefully already aware isn't a result of schizophrenia." Alice smiled at this retort.

"Yeah, so I... sort of... hear..."

Thoughts?

She looked up from her lap to find Miss Peregrine with an eyebrow raised. Without knowing what to reply with, Alice simply nodded. 

"Fascinating," the woman said before she stood up, "Now, when was the last time you ate, love?"

Alice hesitated. When was the last time she ate?

"Goodness, too long to not think about? Come, let's fix you something."

***

"You're from St. David's? I heard the cathedral is beautiful there," Olive said as she twisted Alice's hair into a tuck at the nape of her neck. The hairstyle was definitely Gibson girl-esque; she was fascinated as she watched Olive's gloved fingers work their magic. 

"Yeah, my family and I attended there. My father adored the architecture," Alice replied, a grin appearing on her face.

"Olive, what do you think of this?" Emma asked pulling out from her wardrobe a white dress with puff sleeves, a square neckline, and a sash around the waist.

"Oh, it's lovely! I didn't even know you had this," she said, her smile gleaming.

"It's a bit small, so it should fit you quite alright," said Emma. She knew she didn't mean as Alice took it, but she felt her face grow hot. She wasn't that skinny.

"I can't remember the last time we hosted a makeover, Emma. This is incredibly fun!" Olive said, her optimism radiating off of her.

"Yeah, I love Fi, but she's not really into the... "beauty scene"," Emma said, giggling, "So, Alice, you, read minds?"

"Well, no, not really. It's as though I... can hear what you think as though you're saying it."

Olive and Emma turned to face one another.

Wow...

"It must be nice to have a cool power," Emma said, defeated.

"Yeah," Olive said, twiddling her thumbs. God, if only they knew.

"It sounds a lot more appealing on paper, trust me," Alice said, hiding her annoyance, "You hear everything. Oh, and God forbid there be more than a few people in a room; it's horrifyingly deafening. I've gotten more headaches in a day then some people get in months. Being telepathic seems awfully fun until you're thrown in an asylum for it." She already regretted saying it. When did she lose the ability to bite her tongue?

She looked at the two girls, who were in awe. Guilt started to eat away at her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking down at her lap again.

Breaking the silence, Emma walked over to Alice, handing the dress to her. She walked over behind the room divider, separating Olive's side of the room from Emma's. She noticed that Emma's side had quite a few more scuff marks on the hardwood, presumably from her heavy lead shoes.

"So... how many people live here?"

Me, you, Miss P, Millard, Enoch, Horace, Fiona, Hugh, the twins, Claire, Bronwyn, Victor

"Thirteen?" replied Olive, "Well, fourteen including you. You are planning to stay, right?"

"I-I hope so. I don't really have anywhere else to go." After zipping up the dress, Alice walked out from behind the screen, timidly asking, "What do you think?"

Well, I'll be damned.

Alice giggled at the retort. After receiving a confused look from the two, she mocked, "Well I'll be damned." Olive joined her, tittering as well.

"That's something Abe would say," Olive pointed out. At this, Emma's face grew significantly more pink. Alice figured she shouldn't ask who Abe was. 

"D-do you think the bird will let us go shoe shopping?" Emma asked her red-headed friend. Gesturing toward Alice's feet, she added, "Those ones are looking a bit tragic."

Alice looked down at her shoes which used to be shining white, but were now more of an eggshell color. "They used to be cleaner, I promise."

The three girls turned toward the door, as they received a knock from the other side. Olive's gloved hand twisted the knob and they were greeted with a tall boy, his straight hair messily pushed out of his face, wearing brown trousers, a button down and exposed leather braces. "Supper's ready," he said before walking down the hallway and towards the staircase. Emma walked towards the door and Olive gestured for her the follow, as Alice wondered whether that was Enoch, Victor, or Hugh.

Alice followed the two girls down the mahogany stairs, Emma's shoes clucking down each one. Turning past where she and Miss Peregrine had their little talk, they turned into the dining room. The noise grew increasingly louder as she walked into the room with a table of other curious children. Emma sat in a seat with a leather belt fastened onto it, presumably to keep her weighted down, and Olive sat next to, not the boy who greeted them at the door, but another who, frankly, looked as though he would like to be anywhere else but there. Alice felt quite threatened being in the same room as him. As they made eye contact, that feeling only grew. 

Who the hell is this?

She looked at Emma, who gestured for Alice to sit down next to her, so she obeyed. Miss Peregrine walked out from the kitchen and placed the plates of food she was holding onto the table. 

"Children," Miss Peregrine said, and at her voice, the room grew silent, "I'd like to introduce you to Alice." She felt even more intimidated as everyone turned to look at her.

"She'll be joining us."


	6. Of Thoughts and Politeness

It was loud. Hell, that was an understatement. Everyone was looking at, talking about and thinking about her.

"What can you do?" asked a small girl sitting next to Olive. She reminded her of how her mother used to dress her, in a frilly pink dress and her hair pulled into ponytails with ribbons.

"W-well," Alice replied timidly, "I can...hear thoughts." The room suddenly became a little bit quieter after that response.

Can you hear what I'm thinking?

How about me?

Can you hear this?

Alice giggled. "Yes. Yes, I can."

"Wicked," replied a boy who sat next to Horace, whose straight brunette hair fell in front of his pair of round goggles. A bee sat upon his collared shirt. Apparently, she happened to be staring at his shirt a little too long, because he looked down and replied, chuckling, "Oh, the bees. That's my peculiarity; I have bees in my stomach."

"Hugh, please don't forget this time," Emma said in annoyance. 

"I know, I know," Hugh then proceeded to reach onto the shelf on the wall behind his chair and take down a beekeeping veil. Even for a peculiarity, it seemed rather odd for a boy around her age to have bees living in his stomach. She wondered if he had names for them.

"Alice, how did you turn up here?" asked another young girl, who looked about eight; her short dark hair bounced as she turned her head in curiosity.

"Bronwyn, that might be a question for another day..." Miss Peregrine replied. She knew she meant to be polite, but Alice knew the pain of having unanswered questions better than anyone. However, she didn't really know what to answer with, so she stayed quiet.

"You hear thoughts; like voices?" said the boy in front of her, his cold dark eyes staring into her soul. Her posture diminished, and her eyes wandered to her lap. Alice looked over to Olive, who looked equally nervous, her eyes fixed on his.

Please don't be rude, please don't be rude, please...

The uncertainty from someone who already knew him only fueled the fire to Alice's anxiety. He leaned a little closer, his elbows on the table. 

"Did they think you were crazy?"

"Stop it," Alice's shaky voice managed to get out.

"Enoch, please," Miss Peregrine said sternly, her head turned to give Enoch what she learned was the look. She almost reminded her of her mother in that way, which was comforting.

"Well, why not? I think we should all get to know our guest a little better," he said, a condescending look on his face. Olive looked frankly, disappointed.

She paused, and Enoch waited, his eyes still fixed on hers. Alice sighed. No time like the present, her father used to say.

"They tore me away from my family. Never once did any of those doctors think that it might be something more than a chemical imbalance; never once did they ponder the idea that I might be just... different. Psychiatrists had never seen a case like me, so even though I was stable, I was still a little lab monkey to them." She got closer to him, making her words seem more meaningful. "I was raised by psychiatrists, beside schizophrenics. If anyone knows crazy it would be me."

"Fascinating," replied Millard. Alice had noticed that the little blonde girl from before was eating her meal from behind her head, but she didn't want to be rude and address it.

"Thank you," she replied quietly, her confidence from earlier diminished. Enoch had crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He didn't look defeated necessarily, but simply, less than content.

Alice looked around the table. Next to Hugh sat another girl, about her age. Her complexion was a much darker tan compared to Alice's porcelain and was speckled in little freckles. Alice figured it must be Fi, possibly Fiona, that Emma was speaking of earlier. Her hair was pulled back in two plaits, away from her corduroy overalls. The two were obviously holding hands under the table. 

Alice knew well that she was a sucker for blossoming romance.

She tried to count how many people she knew already. There was...

Olive, a kind and gentle person, with less than gentle fire in her hands.

Emma, who although was a bit hot-headed, was a great friend, her jokes as light-hearted as her feet.

Millard, although he was invisible, his intellect clearly was not.

Victor, who she believed to be the older brother of Bronwyn, seemed like a nice boy, she had decided she wanted to get to know him better.

Hugh, although his power was quite unusual, acted his age and was easy going as could be.

Fiona, well, Alice saw herself in Fiona. She didn't talk much, but she wasn't condescending; she was kind through her body language.

The little girl with hair ribbons, she didn't get her name, but she could already that she was quite charismatic.

The twins, however, Alice knew next to nothing about, but they seemed to have an otherworldly connection. They performed their actions as though they shared the same mind.

Enoch, she was uncertain about. Alice wanted to have hope for him. She wanted to have hope for him, but she received a truly awful first impression.

And Horace, well, Alice didn't want to admit how she felt about Horace. In fact, she had been avoiding him since they arrived.

Alice looked at him and he looked at her. He placed his cheek upon his hand, turning his head oh so slightly. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and her eyes met her lap once again. Why was her face so hot?

Miss Peregrine stood from her chair, before saying, "Well, Victor and Emma, you help clean dishes."

"Can we watch another film?" asked the little blonde girl. Miss Peregrine gave her a look, the look. 

"Please?" she tried again.

"Thank you... Horace?" she asked. He took what looked like an eyeglass out of his shirtwaist pocket. 

The rest of the children followed him to the sitting room, taking their seats on the sofas, while Horace sat in the armchair while Alice joined a few of the children on the floor. As he put the spectacle over his eye and leaned back...

Alice was amazed. Upon the opposite wall from the armchair there played what looked like a film. 

A bakery door was pushed open and out ran Alice. It was an ugly sight, her on screen. Her tangled hair flew behind her as she ran with all of her willpower. Alice saw the fear in her film self's face and felt ashamed. She hadn't realized that she looked so frightened. 

"Don't let her run away!" one of the people of the town yelled from behind her.

She eventually fell but got up as quick as she went down, ignoring the scrapes that had appeared on her body. Eventually, she made it through the pine trees, and across the field. She ran over to the rock ledges, blood dripping down her cheek. Alice had never witnessed something so strange, as to see herself from a bird's eye perspective.

She stopped in front of the clearing, contemplating what to do. Alice found this amusing, as she remembered the experience with much more noise.

Alice ran toward the ledges and through the clearing, as she had that morning. She was once again greeted to the cold and damp cave, the yelling and stomping fading away. Horace had gotten every single little detail correct. What else did he see in his dreams?

Alice saw herself turn around, at the opening of the cave stood who she knew now to be Horace. It was almost ominous the two standing on opposite sides of the cave, staring at one another in wonderment...

"Alright Horace, that'll be enough for today," Miss Peregrine interrupted. Horace removed his eyepiece, and the screen was cleared of its film. 

"That was magnificent," she said to the boy.

"Why thank you," he said, putting the eyepiece back in its waistcoat pocket. God, she felt her face flushing again.

"Was it really that scary?" Alice looked down and saw the little blonde girl looking up at her in curiosity.

"Only a little, don't worry," Alice replied.

"I'm Claire," she said, "Do you want to see the bombing?"

"T-the what?" she asked confused. She turned to Millard, knowing he'd have an explanation.

"Ah, the bombing. It's a little characteristic to our loop. On the third of September, 1943, this house was bombed by the Nazi party, and we had to loop before it was too late. Now that it's the third of September, 1943 every day, we have to rewind the bombing every day as well."

"You really do have a knack for explaining things."

Yes. Yes, I do.

She didn't want to label anyone as her "friend" yet, but Alice had a feeling she was going to like it here.

"Come on, children," Miss Peregrine said, standing by the door. Everyone rose from their seats and made their way to the door, into the rain, each taking a radiation mask from Miss Peregrine on their way out. Although it seemed to be a spectacle in the children's eyes, Alice was more than a little bit concerned as to why they may have needed masks to protect themselves.

Horace walked outside alongside her. "They sure do make the bomb seem like an ordeal, but it becomes part of the routine after a while."

"So you live the same day every day for the rest of your lives?" The whole loop thing was starting to become less and less appealing.

"Pretty much."

"Wait, how old are you?" 

"Thirty-six and... five months, I believe." He chuckled as Alice's eyes grew quite large in surprise. She hadn't realized; he didn't look much older than sixteen. "What about you? You've got to be pretty young." Alice hesitated. She didn't want to be made fun of.

"Fifteen..."

"Things have got to be much different nowadays, I suppose," he replied, changing the subject.

"I believe, yes."

"You believe?" he questioned, a smile appearing on his face. Alice felt as though she was melting.

"Well, I don't really know, I'd been in the hospital so long..." God, had she overshared?

Poor thing.

One thing that she realized today is that she wasn't necessarily keen to sympathy.

All of the children lined up on the grass in front of the home, their shoulders wet with rain. Horace and Alice joined them, putting on their masks. The aircrafts flying overhead only heightened Alice's nerves. Miss Peregrine placed a record on the gramophone that she had taken out with them. The cheery tune that played seemed awfully uncharacteristic to the horror that she knew would take place.

More aircrafts. The sound of them flying by drowned out the sound of the people surrounding her. One by one until... 

It stopped in the air as quickly as it dropped. The rain stopped mid-air. The black beast of the bomb embellished with a bright crimson swastika hovered directly over the home before it zoomed back up into the aircraft in which it came from. She looked over to Miss Peregrine, who was focused on rewinding her large pocket watch. The record began to play backward. The raindrops flew back up to the sky, and the moon crept back under the horizon in which it arose. The sky became light, the stars disguised by a new bright blue sky. 

She hadn't realized that she had been shaking until Horace's hand wrapped around her tricep, pulling her a little bit closer to his torso. Rather than feeling flustered, it was comforting. As quickly as the flowers bloomed in the sunlight, they closed one more as the sky became dark again. As Miss Peregrine's pocket watch stopped, the children removed their masks and Alice followed suit. Horace's hand let go of her as she took his mask off and fixed his hair.

I didn't realize you'd be so nervous.

"Me neither," Alice replied softly. Horace chuckled in response. 

"Well, off to get ready for bed," Miss Peregrine said, getting things rolling.

As the children made their way back toward the home, Alice asked, "Do you always have dreams like those?"

"Not always," he replied, "Sometimes I have to wait to see if it is true or not."

Sometimes I hope to God it doesn't.

Horace turned to Alice, and to the response of her sympathetic look, replied, "B-but not very often." Alice looked at her toes. Nightmares for Horace had to be pretty frightening. How could she feel so connected to someone she only knew a few hours?

Even when she was still living with her parents, Alice never really had a friendly connection with anyone. If only she could have told herself then that if she could be patient, she would find herself with a group of people that would understand her, and know what is was like to be a little bit more peculiar than most. 

Maybe is she told herself she'd be okay now, she would actually believe it.

She found herself thinking that night before she fell asleep of all the things that brought her there, including a particularly polite boy.


	7. Of Conversations and Development

That morning Alice woke up with a wicked headache. She had hardly realized how loud it was whenever everyone was together. Alice felt grateful that Fiona only thought simple things. The room they shared was dead quiet, as she was still asleep. It couldn't have been more than 5:00, she figured. Alice wondered why she was waking up so early lately. Didn't she realize that she was safe now? It was all so strange, her life had changed so quickly the day before and yet it felt so natural, as though everything was finally falling into place. The room was relatively empty, with a simple floral wallpaper, maple hardwood, and white trimming. There were two beds, with dark oak headboards, and white bedside tables, with table lamps that when on, shone a warm yellow light upon the white paint. It was symmetrical, other than the fact that on Alice's side was a window. Across from each bed was an armoire of the same stained wood as the headboards. In between the two sides was the door, painted white with a gilded knob. Although the lack of personality from Alice's side can be excused by the fact that she was new, she figured the equal lack of personality from Fiona's side could be tied to the fact that she spent most of her days in the garden. However, in the corner was a hanging ivy in a terracotta pot, its vines so long that they nearly touched the hardwood. 

In her bedroom in her parent's house, she filled her white walls with drawings and polaroid photos. Maybe now that she was given a few freedoms, she could continue to sketch again. She swore the day when she was heartbroken by the newfound knowledge that she couldn't be trusted with a pencil because she might stab herself or those around her. A pencil. Not a lot of things made her angry, but that had crossed the line, she believed.

She got up from her bed, changed from a borrowed nightgown into the dress and shoes she had worn the day before. Alice glanced out of the window, having a view of the topiary animals in the garden. She had wondered what everyone's peculiarity was. She would need to talk more to Victor, Bronwyn, Enoch, and Fiona. 'Maybe I could ask Millard or Horace about that,' she thought to herself. Horace, however, she desperately needed to stop thinking about. Her thoughts were going into dangerous places. How dare she want to hold someone's hand or kiss their cheek. Ridiculous, she hardly knew him!

She turned the knob and led herself out of the room, creeping her way down the hallway and down the wide staircase. Why she had been waking up so early as of late, she didn't have a clue. Alice didn't realize how loud it was yesterday until she had woken up with the pounding headache. Her temples felt as though they were being pressed into her skull and she could feel her heart thumping in her brain. 

Trying her best to ignore the pain in her head and to relish in the silence of the early morning, she walked into the sitting room, where Miss Peregrine had talked with her and where Horace had demonstrated what had happened earlier that day. God, she needed to stop thinking about that boy. What was it about him that made her heart flutter? 

Pressed up against the wall was a full bookcase, of a similar wood to the staircase. Although a vast majority of the books squeezed together were of a dark leather or canvas-bound, one of them stood out to Alice. A white, tall paperback in a row of dark, thick novels and textbooks. She slowly pulled it out, and discovered that there were beautiful sketches of figures in tuxedos and ball gowns. Above the figures in bold black letters read "Patterns for the Intermediate Tailor". She flipped through many of the thick pages, the pictures of the patterns' end results depicted on sketched figures. She landed on one page with a figure wearing the most beautiful, flowing dress that hugged the waist spilled onto the floor. When Alice lived in 1979, she never attended any occasions that would require something so elegant. It had long sleeves that hugged the arms of the figure and the neckline dropped into a low "v". Although the pattern sketch was a black and white, Alice could imagine it in a beautiful emerald.

She could hear incoherent thoughts mumbling from the top of the staircase, and panic started to set in. Was she in trouble? Did she break a rule? Was she to be sent home? Alice rushed back to the bookcase at pushed the book back into its tight space on the bookshelf before her bottom met the sofa. Turning her head towards the staircase, she was met with the boy she had been trying to avoid thinking about. Rubbing his eyes with his hair not perfectly slicked back as it had been the day before. Standing in his robe and house shoes, Alice couldn't help but think that he looked quite adorable.

"Oh, good morning," Horace, "If I knew I were not to be alone, I would have tried to look decent."

"Oh no, don't worry about it." If she had the choice, Alice would have told how his disheveled hair only contributed to said adorableness. She felt a warmth in her cheeks that she hoped wasn't noticeable.

"Besides, in my decade, pajamas and dark circles are all over Vogue," she added playfully.

I'm sure you make them look awful chic.

As Alice erupted into a fit of laughter, Horace's expression looked puzzled. She could see in his face the wave of realization as he said, "You know, I've been living here so long, I forget the eccentricities that peculiarities truly are. Yours however, is quite different." He looked up, delicately placing his hands into the pockets of his robe. "It's like magic."

"I could say the same for you," Alice interjected, "It's terrifying, yes, but so... I don't know." She couldn't find the words to describe Horace. The warmth in her cheeks had not subsided, so she covered her face with her locks. Breaking the silence once again she said, "Any last night?"

"No, not really. Sometimes I dream like normal people, in colors," he said, smirking charmingly. "I guess that's a good thing," Alice followed, "I'm sorry you had to see my story. It's quite pathetic, to be frank."

"Pathetic?" the boy said, joining Alice on the sofa, "Why do you say that?" Alice giggled nervously. "What isn't pathetic about it really? In 1979 I'm a homeless runaway. I guess I still am. I just don't like being sympathized is all."

It's a bit hard not to.

"I'm sorry about that." She looked up from her lap to meet Horace's eyes, a gray blue. It was horribly cliche to fall in love with people's eyes, but it makes you realize that cliches exist for a reason.

"You're not pathetic," Horace interjected after a moment of comfortable silence, "Why you're not pathetic at all. In fact, the Alice that I saw was much like the opposite, making her future a priority and escaping her life that she had been forced into. Alice gave herself a new start because ... she deserved it."

"Maybe Horace is giving Alice a bit too much credit," she replied, playing along with his game. "If you sit back and look at your life like a story or ... like a dream, then it all starts to make a bit more sense. You begin to discover who you really are."

"Who, if I may ask, is dream Horace Sumnusson, then?"

"Well," he chuckled, "He's charismatic for sure. Maybe that's his flaw as well. He cares so much about his image, and how other people see him, that he hides away anything that isn't absolutely perfect. Unfortunately, sometimes he makes his reputation of being a proper Englishman his main priority, instead of just allowing himself to be human."

"If Horace cares so much about his image, then why is he opening up to Alice, the side character he met just yesterday?"

He paused, but slowly carried on. "He does this so that maybe Alice will understand that she's not the only flawed character in the story."

The pair relished in the silence and the all-familiar blush returned to Alice's cheeks. 

"Who is dream Alice Wichman?"

Ignoring the fact that he somehow knew her surname, she continued, "She's quite the underdeveloped character. As a child she was headstrong and knew exactly what she wanted. She was a creative, obnoxious little beast," she paused to recollect, but carried on, "But the years have weighed heavy on her. She's been so preoccupied with the fact that she was insane that she lost her personality. She's simply forgotten who she is, and is now just a blank slate."

Her eyes meet the boy's once again, noticing that he was immersed in her story. His calm smile forced her to press on. "But she's now beginning to discover that's she's not as crazy as she thought she was. Now's her time to start over, to give character development another try." 

Alice hadn't noticed before, but the two had gotten closer, so her left thigh was pressed against his right. It should be awkward and by all accounts not allowed, but it felt natural. A warm hand had tucked her fallen lock behind her ear. "Alice would make a good protagonist." She giggled and moved away, breaking their closeness. "Are you sure? She wouldn't stand a chance in the spotlight. That Horace, guy though? Bestseller." The two shared a laugh.

Thank you.

"You as well. It's not easy." She looked again at his warm smile, juxtaposing his cold eyes. Suddenly, her lips felt lonely. The boy looked down at his robe.

"I should go make myself look more publicly presentable," he said, leaving the sofa for the stairs. "Well, have fun," she said, not because she meant it, but because she thought she needed something to say in the moment.

"Oh, no worries," he replied, "I will." And as he departed, that was the end of that."Good morning, Emma," Alice heard from at the top of the stairs, from a familiar voice. "Mornin'," the girl replied, her shoes thumping heavily down the stairs. "Oh, good morning Alice. Want to help with breakfast?"

"Um, sure?" she answered, nervous all of a sudden, putting aside the depth of her previous conversation with the boy she had accidently fallen for aside.


	8. Of Accusations and Melodies

For the next few days, Alice was focused on learning the routine of those living under Miss Peregrine. These children have been living here for something of thirty years, so they adapted to ways of doing things that needed study. They had chore shifts and jobs at different times of day, and every minute of every hour was accounted for. They had been easy on her, but Alice had already messed a few things up already. However, she seemed to be adapting well to the routine. Alice thrived in routine, as there was no need to be anxious in a world that is predictable. Despite this, she tried to keep the fact that an existence like this meant that she'd be living the same day every day for the rest of her life to the back of her mind.

Today was to be a calm day, they had decided, so Alice was listening to a conversation between Emma and Olive, who was braiding Fiona's hair, under the topiary animals, keeping eyes out for the little ones, who were playing in the garden.

Alice resisted the urge to pick and create bouquets of the wildflowers surrounding her, which she presumed to be Fiona's doing. The scene brought back memories of her and Inez creating flower chains of dandelions, not knowing then that they were useless weeds. It created an aura of comfort. In the little garden, all was well. 

"-he's too focused on winning her over anyway." Alice overheard Emma say, having the feeling her was herself. She turned to the pair, who were staring at her. Quickly turning away, they stifled a few giggles.

"Excuse me?" she said, not wanting to come off too harsh, but also interested in how she was involved in whatever they were discussing. 

Finishing off the last braid with a ribbon, Olive interjected, "All done, Fi." Fiona then stood up, turned around to mouth an inaudible "thank you", before running over to the vegetable garden, where Hugh was waiting for her.

Alice wished that she had paid better attention to their conversation beforehand, so that she wouldn't have to be plagued by curiosity. For all she knew, they could be discussing how much of a bratty nuisance Alice was, to disturb the peace of the routine. She got up from her spot within the wildflowers, in search of a task that would fill the void that is her desperation to be useful.

Where is she going?

Alice turned around to find Emma looking up at her, and although she knew the girl always had the best of intentions, a presence of no-good was apparent in the expression of her visage.

"So, Alice darling, have you made any close friends as of late?" the blonde questioned. Why did Alice feel as though this is a trap? She knew about her feelings towards a certain individual, and she knew it.

"Well... other than Claire, who's quite the chatterbox towards everyone, um, yes, I've had the pleasant conversation here and there..." 

"I just don't understand what you see in him," she interrupted curiously.

"Emma, let's not be impolite," Olive retorted.

"Pardon?"

"Horace. You two haven't left each other alone since you arrived. Not to intrude, but I just don't know what you see in that pompous brat."

"Emma!" 

"What? I speak the truth!" Alice sat, hugging her knees. She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't comprehend a sentence other than, "It's not like that."

"Well, to be fair darling, he does look at you a certain way," added Olive.

"No he doesn't. T-that's preposterous. I'm not exactly one to be fancied. Especially not by someone like him."

The two other girls looked at each other, perplexed.

Alice interjected, "He's likely just curious, as most men are. Wanting to know about outside the loop, as Millard does. Let the boy live."

"Whatever you say, hon," Emma added before getting up to leave. 

When Emma was a wee bit away, Olive said, "Don't worry about her, love. I mean, I love her, trust me, but she thinks she knows everything about everyone." Looking down at her watch, she added, "Well, it's about time I helped Enoch. See you later, Al." Watching Olive skip back to the house, Alice thought to herself if she even wanted to prove Emma's theory wrong. I mean, everyone is flattered at the idea of someone fancying them. But Alice, on the other hand, didn't want to get herself wrapped up in false hope. As far as she knew, it is a fallacy that only can get you heartbroken. Alice had never been romantic with anyone before, and she would like to keep it that way. 

She lay down in the grass, amongst the untidied wildflowers and stared at the clouds. As a child, she often imagined them to be different shapes and figures of sorts. Now, they just appeared to be tufts of cotton. Perhaps something about the ward sucked the creativity right out of her.

The longer she laid there, the faster those little tufts of cotton seemed to move along, an autumn chill hitting her exposed skin. As Alice was particularly sensitive to cold, most likely due to her skeletal figure of which she despised, she made the decision to move inside before the cold took over her. The closer she got to the front porch, the faint sound of piano seemed to be filling the house. As soon as she opened the large front door, the music seemed to pour out. Turning right into the parlor, she went to discover who was flooding the room with "Maple Leaf Rag". Claire was dancing with one of her dolls and at the upright piano it was him. Alice hated hating people, but right now, she hated Horace. Or rather she hated being around him. She knew what Emma thought of the two, and it was enough to fluster Alice. 

She walked into the room where the two dwelled, where Horace sat at the upright piano bench, looking focused, but sure of himself. Emma, the girl who seemed to know everything, would have interpreted the expression as smug. However, once he caught sight of Alice, his eyes grew wide. He snapped his head down back to his fingers, his pale face seemed to become flushed. She knew his thoughts were racing, but the piano poured over it all. Soon enough, his playing grew sloppier, his shaky fingers slipping onto the wrong keys, which he previously had been born to play. Eventually, he lifted his hands off the keys, which quickly became shaky fists. 

"What happened?" inquired Claire, a disappointed expression growing on her face. 

"I... I can't seem to remember the... rest of it," he replied, face scrunched and hands meeting the back of his neck. 

"Oh, okay," said Claire, seemingly unfazed. She paused before turning to Alice, "Do you know how to play, Al?"

Dear Alice was taken aback. She used to take lessons when she was young, but she hadn't played in years. She wouldn't know if she remembered a thing without her old sheet music.

"You seem to have a little too much faith in me, my dear," she chuckled nervously, "but I'll try."

Horace removed himself from the velvet-tufted bench and off to the side, and Alice soon replaced his seat. 

"What to play... what to play," she muttered under her breath. "Oh!" Alas, a memory. "I think I have an idea..." Her fingers remembered the first couple of chords. After a rather slow start, the memories came flooding back to her, and she picked up rather quickly. 

She had to be nine or ten years old at the time, but when she was young, her parents had taken her to see a rather small community theatre production of The Sound of Music. She never had thought herself to be the musical type, but as soon as the overture began to play, her childlike eyes grew large. A piece had never made her feel that way before. So here she was, for the first time in what had to be three or four years, playing the song that made her fall in love with music. 'The hills are alive...,' she hummed to herself. 

When she had played the last chord, she turned immediately to Horace, who was standing beside her, a focused expression on his face, which was now sufficiently less red. 

Why does it feel so familiar?

"Familiar?" she replied, chuckling. "I think you're a bit too old for it to feel familiar, darling."

He bit his lip, seemingly to hide a smile. "Perhaps it was a dream."

"Perhaps it was," she replied. The two basked in the silence, the warmth between them growing. It didn't last long, however, as Claire interjected, "Well?" The two snapped around to view her annoyed expression. "I wasn't done dancing!" Alice chuckled along with the boy, whose smile filled the room.

***

Alice lay in bed that night, enjoying the absence of the droning noise, which had later been replaced by the singing of crickets from the open window. The last few days had been so peaceful compared to everything else, it almost felt more like a dream than a reality. Then again, it was still difficult for Alice to let go of the irrational fear that something horrible would happen, that she would somehow manage to ruin everything and would have to turn to escaping again. 

Why couldn't she just get it through her thick skull that she was safe this time, that she didn't have to run anymore? She knew that it was okay to settle down, but her mind, still recovering from the week or so past, wouldn't allow her to believe it. Her body was still recovering as well; that cut that had once stained her cheek, was now a small scar under her left eye. 

She was also failing to wrap her head around the fact that if she did end up staying here, not that she had anywhere else to go, that she wouldn't be able to live a normal life, either. Would she want to remain fifteen for the rest of her life? Everyone else seemed to handle it all just fine. In fact, most of them had remained the same age for the better part of thirty years. If they could handle it, surely she could as well, right?

She reminded herself of the girl that stood in the mirror. Sunken eyes, translucent skin, bony frame, corpse-like demeanor She had also managed to remind herself that when she got older, she would grow into her own body, but now that she was stuck with it for the rest of her life, that hope diminished relatively quickly. It was such a trivial thing to grieve over, her corporeal form. It was only her brain walking around in a sack of bones after all. 

Emma didn't look like a corpse. Her life seemed so perfect for her to be grumpy all the time.

Her worries seemed less and less important, however, as her eyelids became heavier, her head sinking into her pillow.


End file.
